Five Easy Pieces: When Good Performances Aren't Enough

Jack Nicholson as Bobby Dupea.

The years have not been kind to Five Easy Pieces (1970), which earned four major Oscar nominations and was hailed by Roger Ebert as a "masterpiece of heartbreaking intensity." In retrospect, it's a meandering film that boasts two stellar performances and an iconic scene. That's not enough, though, to justify the bloated running time and the "so what" of it all.

Jack Nicholson plays Bobby Dupea, a disgruntled young man from an affluent family of classical musicians, who works in the California oil fields. Bobby lives with Rayette (Karen Black), a pretty but none-too-bright diner waitress who aspires to sing country music. He cheats on Rayette, berates her in front of friends, and is too embarrassed to introduce her to his family. He also gets her pregnant.

Susan Anspach as Catherine.

When visiting his sister Partita, Bobby learns that his father has suffered two strokes. Partita (Lois Smith) encourages Bobby to resolve his differences with his estranged father before it's too late. Bobby's reunion with his family bores him until he meets Catherine (Susan Anspach), who is studying music with his brother Carl. As Bobby pursues the reluctant Catherine, Rayette waits for him at a motel a few miles from the Dupea house.

As a character study, one can forgive the wandering plot of Five Easy Pieces. However, director Bob Rafelson allows his film to lose focus by indulging in extraneous scenes. There are lingering shots of Bobby working in the oil fields. A hitchhiker prattles endlessly about how the world is filled with filth. Bobby gets irate about a highway traffic jam (one of Ebert's favorite scenes).

Karen Black as Rayette.

The film perks up whenever there's a scene with Karen Black as Rayette. The actress keeps the character from being nothing more than Bobby's victim. Yes, Rayette can be irritating, but she sincerely loves Bobby, forgives him for everything, and finds joy in her simple life. In one of the best scenes, Rayette interrupts a ridiculous pseudo-intellectual discussion by asking: "Is there a TV in the house?"

Jack Nicholson is wonderfully convincing as the disillusioned Bobby--who isn't quite sure what he's disillusioned about other than his life in general. One doesn't have to like the character to admire Nicholson's performance or appreciate the tiny details that make Bobby seem real. There's the justifiably famous scene of Bobby trying to reason with a diner waitress who refuses to make any substitutions on his breakfast. However, Nicholson's best scene is saved for what functions as the film's climax--a "conversation" with Bobby's father that's essentially a monologue of self-reflection.

The film's screenplay, Rafelson, Nicholson, and Black all earned Oscar nominations in 1970. If Nicholson first garnered serious critical acclaim in Easy Rider (1969), then Five Easy Pieces was the movie that made him a star. He would make three of his best films over the next five years--The Last Detail, Chinatown, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest--receiving three more Oscar nominations and winning Best Actor for Cuckoo's Nest.

All of those films are better than Five Easy Pieces, a promising character study that gets lost in its own pompousness.

Jack Nicholson Directs Goin' South

Henry Lloyd Moon--a second-rate outlaw with a third-rate gang--learns the hard way that it doesn't pay to tease a posse. After crossing the border to Mexico, Moon stops to laugh at the pursuing posse. The sheriff pauses for a few minutes, then rides across the river and arrests Moon. Following his delivery to the jail in Longhorn, Moon is sentenced to hang.

Mary Steenburgen.

However, on the way to the gallows, he finds out about an usual local ordinance. Any single woman can save a condemned man by marrying him. Moon becomes ecstatic when an elderly woman proposes marriage--but, unfortunately, she dies before they can be hitched. With the noose around his neck, he is saved a second time when the attractive Julia Tate "claims" him. She makes it clear that the marriage is strictly a business proposition because she needs help on her farm. However, since the two characters are played by Mary Steenburgen and Jack Nicholson, it's pretty obvious how the plot will unfold.

Made in 1978, the story behind the making of Goin' South is more interesting than the film itself. Elliott Gould and Candice Bergen were originally cast as the leads, with Mike Nichols attached as director. That production never came to fruition and the script sat on the shelf. Meanwhile, Jack Nicholson was developing Moontrap, an adaptation of Don Berry's 1971 novel about a former mountain man's adventures in the Oregon Territory in 1850. Nicholson wanted to direct Moontrap, but not star in it. He eventually relented and agreed to take a supporting role in the hope of getting the film made. Yet, despite his efforts, Nicholson could never bring Moontrap to the screen.

Christopher Lloyd and John Belushi.

When the opportunity to direct Goin' South came along, Nicholson took it. With the exception of newcomer Steenburgen, Nicholson surrounded himself with cronies: co-writer John Herman Shaner; production designer Toby Carr Rafelson (director Bob Rafelson's ex-wife); producer Harry Gittes (who worked with Nicholson on Drive, He Said); One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest co-stars Christopher Lloyd and Danny DeVito; and Nicholson's frequent co-star Luana Anders. There are even more familiar faces in the rest of the supporting cast, to include: Veronica Cartwright (Alien, The Birds); John Belushi (playing a Mexican deputy); Richard Bradford (Man in a Suitcase); Anne Ramsey (who would later team with DeVito in Throw Mama from the Train); and Ed Begley, Jr.

Steenburgen and Nicholson.

In a recent interview with the Café, Cartwright described working with Nicholson the director: "Jack is just nuts. He’s great. It’s like one big giant party." Surprisingly, that approach doesn't show up on the screen; the first hour of Goin' South is a pleasant romantic comedy effectively played by Steenburgen and Nicholson. However, once their characters' love for one another is established, the film loses momentum and lumbers to its conclusion. In Dennis McDougal's biography of Jack Nicholson, Five Easy Decades: How Jack Nicholson Became the Biggest Movie Star in Modern Times, the author notes Nicholson's disappointment that critics and viewers ignored that Moon's gang were social miscasts. He quotes Nicholson: "(They were) all members of Quantrill's Raiders, the original guerrilla warfare unit in America. And what do you do with these people once they're home?"

Jack Nicholson followed up Goin' South by starring in The Shining. Kubrick's film prevented Nicholson from doing Melvin and Howard. However, he lent a copy of the script to Mary Steenburgen while making Goin' South. She later won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her performance in Melvin and Howard.

On a Clear Day You Can See (and Hear) Barbra

Barbra as Daisy Gamble.

This colorful adaptation of the 1965 Broadway musical is neither a delight nor dud. On the plus side, it earns kudos for originality--really, a musical about reincarnation? Barbra Streisand, still basking in the glow of Funny Girl, sounds terrific, especially on the soaring title tune. Yet, despite those virtues, On a Clear Day is ultimately that promising date that doesn't pan out--not a bad experience...but no one is interested in exchanging phone numbers.

Barbra as Melinda.

Barbra plays Daisy Gamble, a free-spirited young woman with an uptight fiance (Larry Blyden) and a touch of extra sensory perception. She seeks out college professor Marc Chabot (Yves Montand) to help her quit smoking through hypnosis. When under a trance, she recalls a previous life as Melinda Tentrees, a British socialite who rose from the lower classes. As the hypnosis sessions continue, Marc realizes that his growing admiration for the strong, confident Melinda may be turning into something more. He also becomes frustrated with the insecure Daisy, lamenting privately that she is the caterpillar and Melinda the butterfly.

Yves Montand as Marc.

Streisand and Montand make an odd couple, especially with the age difference (he was two decades older). That may be one of the reasons that the film's ending differs from the stage musical (and for the better, I think). When Paramount signed Richard Harris to a three-film contract in 1967, its intent was to pair him with Streisand in On a Clear Day. I'm not sure that would have worked better; frankly, I can't imagine him singing Montand's big song, the catchy "Come Back to Me."

Barbra in a chair-matching dress.

The songs by Burton Lane and Alan Jay Lerner are forgettable except for the title song, the aforementioned "Come Back to Me," and Streisand's delightful rendition of "Go to Sleep." For the latter song, she duets with herself--with both Streisands wearing outfits that blend into the furniture. (Lane and Lerner added this song for the movie; it has since appeared in some of the stage revivals).

Nicholson in his trimmed role.

Director Vincente Minnelli's original version ran over three hours and was intended as a "roadshow" attraction. But with musicals on the decline, the film was shortened by an hour, eliminating several musical numbers and much of Jack Nicholson's performance as Daisy's half-brother.

In the end, one's appreciation for On A Clear Day You Can See Forever depends on one's affection for Ms. Streisand. Personally, I've always enjoyed her comedies more than her dramas, as evidenced by her delivery of this line after finding out about Marc's infatuation with Melinda: "He wasn't interested in me. He was interested in me." And, of course, no one can deny that the woman can sing.

Danny’s Not Here, Mrs. Torrance... He’s Watching Stanley Kubrick’s “The Shining”

Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) takes a job as caretaker of the Overlook Hotel for the winter. A struggling alcoholic who has been sober for five months, he plans to work on his latest “writing project,” while his wife, Wendy (Shelley Duvall), and son, Danny (Danny Lloyd), stay with him in the enormous hotel. Before the employees leave, a cook, Hallorann (Scatman Crothers), recognizes in Danny a shared extrasensory ability. Hallorann’s grandmother referred to ESP as “shining,” which the young boy handles by creating Tony, who lives in Danny’s mouth, talking to him and sometimes showing him pieces of future events. Danny can sense that the cook is afraid of Room 237, and Hallorann warns Danny to stay out of the room.

Jack had been informed by the hotel manager of the preceding caretaker, Charles Grady, who murdered his family with an axe before killing himself. Days pass, and Jack sleeps late, repeatedly tosses a ball against the wall, and nods off at the typewriter. As Jack’s behavior becomes progressively more antagonistic towards his wife and son, Danny has visions of mysterious sisters, bloody corridors, and the word “redrum” scrawled on a door. Soon, Jack is seeing people at the hotel, like the bartender, Lloyd, who serves him drinks, and it seems only a matter of time before the agitated writer picks up an axe.
Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining was not generally well received upon its 1980 release in theaters, but like several of Kubrick’s films, The Shining has, over time, garnered more fans and favorable reviews. Kubrick was well known for his rigorous shoots during production, a perfectionist for every shot of his films. His movie prior to The Shining, Barry Lyndon (1975), took an astounding 300 days to complete filming, whereas production for The Shining reportedly lasted over a year. Perhaps because of his lengthy shoots, Kubrick was never genuinely considered an “actor’s director,” as the actors sometimes were simply objects within a highly detailed construct (e.g., the privates standing at attention in 1987’s Full Metal Jacket or Alex and his droogs sitting at the milk bar in 1971’s A Clockwork Orange).

In The Shining, there are seemingly endless shots of far-reaching hallways and characters framed in vast, nearly empty rooms. Something as simple as Wendy bringing Jack his breakfast becomes an arduous task of rolling a service cart for a prolonged distance. Many horror films enclose characters within confined spaces (such as George A. Romero’s 1968 ghoul opus, Night of the Living Dead), but The Shining takes an alternate approach. There is plenty of room to move in the colossal hotel, but, like with so many of the hotel’s elements, it’s pure deceit. The isolated hotel is covered in a severe snow storm, so Danny and his mother can run, and they can even hide, but there truly is no escape.
There have been numerous readings of The Shining, with some critical writings or essays viewing the film as an allegory. While a literal translation of the film’s plot is not likely feasible, it is possible to focus more on its base components. Jack Torrance is either conversing with and being manipulated by ghosts or his mind is disintegrating (not unlike Jack Clayton’s 1961 The Innocents or its source text, Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw). Theories can support either belief, but Kubrick’s infamous concluding shot, closing in on a simple photograph, adds a new element to any potential interpretation.

The Shining was based on the Stephen King novel of the same name, which was adapted by Kubrick and author Diane Johnson. King has been vocal over his dissatisfaction with Kubrick’s film version. The author was most critical of the casting of Nicholson, believing that audiences would immediately see Nicholson as the mentally unstable character, as opposed to watching a man slowly fall apart. In 1997, King adapted his novel and produced a three-part miniseries directed by Mick Garris and starring Steven Weber and Rebecca De Mornay. The television version was filmed in part at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado, the hotel which inspired King’s original novel. Kubrick filmed some of the exteriors for the 1980 film at the Timberline Lodge in Oregon in lieu of the Stanley Hotel, another source of contention for King. (The interiors were filmed at Elstree Studios in England.)
The film’s Steadicam operator, Garrett Brown, invented the Steadicam, which he initially called the “Brown stabilizer.” He first utilized the Steadicam in Bound for Glory (1976) and won great acclaim for Rocky the same year, following Sylvester Stallone up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum. His design originally covered the area from the operator’s waist to head, but he was able to employ shots in The Shining at knee height (accomplished by utilizing a wheelchair), as the camera travels behind Danny on a Big Wheel in the Overlook’s hallways. The tracking shots in Kubrick’s film are extraordinary. They are fluid and follow Danny so closely that it gives the impression of being pulled against one’s will, intensifying the dread of the boy turning a corner, as one can never tell what will be standing there.

Soon after its initial theatrical release, Kubrick pulled the film and cut the ending. The final shot was the same, but there was a preceding scene that did little to explain the events of the movie. If anything, it unnecessarily piled on further intricacies to a labyrinth of ideas. There are apparently production shots, but the filmed scene reportedly no longer exists.

Wendy Carlos and Rachel Elkind composed a score for the film (Carlos had also written the Moog synthesizer music for Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange). However, very little of their music was used, as Kubrick opted for already existing classical music to cover most of the film’s soundtrack. In 2005, Carlos released the original material written for The Shining, with Rediscovering Lost Scores, Vol. 1 and 2 (also featuring selections from A Clockwork Orange and 1982’s Tron).
Though they are often referred to as “twins,” the ghostly Grady sisters in The Shining are simply dressed alike, as the film explains that the two girls are different ages. The well known line -- “Here’s Johnny!” -- was an ad-lib by Nicholson. Clearly a play on Ed McMahon’s introduction of Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show, Stanley Kubrick, who had been living in England for a number of years, reportedly did not comprehend the reference. Carson would later incorporate the scene in an introduction to one of the show’s anniversary specials.

The Shining is one of my favorite horror films. I’m a Kubrick fan, and although he didn’t concentrate on the horror genre, the famed director was able to create scenes of sheer intensity and disturbing imagery that sears itself into the viewers’ minds. It’s a movie that, if nothing else, makes me glad that I cannot afford to stay at a gigantic posh hotel.